Feast
by The Other Side of Darkness
Summary: AU. Taylor doesn't trigger in the locker. She doesn't gain control of insects. She doesn't bring the heroes of Bockton Bay to their knees while accidentally becoming the queen of its underworld. That doesn't mean she isn't special. Or hungry. She's very hungry, actually.
1. Chapter 1

This story can and will go to weird places. It will be considerably more detailed than Levels. I will be honest and say that, while I loved Levels, it was to shake the dust off, metaphorically speaking. I think this one will be far better, though I can't say where it will end.

That said, I do not own Worm or Re: MONSTER

Chapter One: Glutton For Punishment

On Earth Bet there were people with superpowers. Everyone knew it. It hadn't been new for years, decades even. Villains, heroes, everything in between. The public had seen it all.

What they didn't know about was the source of that power. It wasn't a secret, really, but those who had the ability to Trigger and become a Cape had nodes in their brains called a Corona Pollentia. When they triggered it became a Gemma. It seemed to read what they were going through when they were stressed to the point of activating and expressed itself in a singularly unique way that would allow them to bring resolution to the matter, in the short term at least.

These nodes were noted by even fewer to almost have identities of their own, agendas, wills. They were nicknamed Passengers. Some went so far as to imagine them as little, multidimensional insects that lived in the brain of the Cape they were born to, whimsically granting power however they felt like it.

What no one knew, was that there were those walking about with powers that had nothing to do with Passengers. A few gifted individual who had simply evolved. Maybe a thousand, the world over.

And they were _strong!_ Their abilities, born only from a high percentage use of their brains, were on par with the other Capes in the world up to the rankings of ten, in the most extreme cases. There was, however, not a single one of them that would be rated less than five in one field or another.

They just didn't use their abilities in the public.

This was because one of them, an old man with an especially strong precognitive ability, the likes of which the Simurgh would be jealous of, had a premonition. He told the world's most powerful telepath(again, not Ziz) that if those with abilities born of this natural evolution were to involve themselves in the battles between Heroes and Villains, _something_ would take notice, and kill them all.

He then made a second prediction.

"There will be an Esper, born into love, tempered in hate, forged in solitude, sharpened by adversity, that will be our sword against this beast that would see us all destroyed. He will be the most powerful of us all. He will be our hope. He will shine like a beacon in the mists of turmoil and spread knowledge as though an arbiter of that ancient library. Never let him fall to ruin, should you meet him," that message was sent to every Esper on the planet, along with the one that proclaimed their doom. Every time a new one was born, at age ten they were given that message. Told to hide and yet seek that beacon of light.

So, they did, keeping their talents hidden, never interfering in cape business, keeping their existence a closely guarded secret, policing their own as needed.

-9002-

Taylor Hebert was crying, alone in the darkness. It was cramped and uncomfortable and smelled of things better left unsaid in polite company. Realistically, she should never have been able to fit inside this small, reeking place. It was only due to her abnormally skinny body.

She had been here for over an hour.

It had been quite the shock, opening her locker to find it stuff with biological waste. Were she capable of it, she would have thrown up all over her own shoes. As it was, it still hunched her over, heaving and gagging.

It was then that someone struck her from behind, shoving her into the locker and slamming it closed. She managed to twist herself around to see three bitches laughing at her suffering.

Something inside of Taylor died, a small piece of herself that she had been trying to protect ever since her mother's death, when she saw Emma Barnes, her former best friend, laughing uproariously at what they had just done to her. The pretty redheaded model was smiling and laughing with her conspirators, Madison Clements and Sophia Hess, making jokes about what they had just done. _Making jokes!_

Tears started flowing from Taylor's eyes. She had been about to beg to be let out, but he knew now that such a thing would only get more laughter from those three. And there would be no one willing to cross them for her. She'd have to wait, in this filth, until either they decided to let her out, or the janitor finally came along to find out what the smell was.

So, she stayed put, and cried. She cried and cried and cried, because what else was she supposed to do? Fighting back had not worked out. She had trying going about it systemically, that just ended up getting them to target her harder. She even tried getting physical once. Sophia shut her down in the blink of an eye. The bitch had some kind of close quarters combat training, that was for sure.

Finally, after an hour. Taylor tried to force her way out. The stench was really getting to her. Her tears had all dried up, and her patience had all but disappeared. She wouldn't know it for some time, but something in her finally snapped into place, a perfect alignment of active apathy and subconscious hate, that finally allowed her to put her ability to use.

You see, Taylor, like so few across the globe, was an Esper. Her ability was simple, and deceptively powerful. One that, until this point in time, she had declined making a use of.

She could eat _anything._ More than that, she could gain power from anything she ate.

But she had felt it pointless, until now, to do so. Sure, it would have been nice, if she could have gone out and somehow used her power to fly around and save the day, like the heroes that were always seen on TV, but the mandate from the Prophet kept that from happening. She had never even been able to tell her parents about what she could do, so strong was the telepath that sent her the message on her tenth birthday. So, really, there was no point.

It hadn't even been considered when she was thinking of ways to defend herself against her bullies. What was she supposed to do? Eat their homework? Even if she did eat something that could give them an edge over the bitches, the only thing that would do would be to out her as an Esper.

She'd be damned if she was the one that caused her entire race to die, simply because she couldn't handle some bullies.

But until now, they hadn't done anything that _required_ her to use her ability to defend against.

Right then, in that locker filled with filth and insects, Taylor had a real threat of dying to infection and other biohazards. Who knew what kind of diseases she could already have, just be being in there so long? Who know what _longer_ exposure would do to her?

So, she decided, finally, to do something about it. It was a struggle to even move, in such confinement, but she managed it, through sheer determination. The first handful of sanitary pads and blood was enough to set her gagging again. Somehow, even with it already surrounding her, holding it up to her face with the intent to eat it was making the scent stronger.

She stuck her nose to the grating on her locker, took a deep breath of relatively fresh air, then shoved that first handful of biological waste into her mouth and began to chew quickly, trying not to taste. She had to fight with everything she had not to spit it back out and keep chewing. She actually had to focus in order to swallow. The taste was indescribably bad.

Worse were the mental notifications she received, just from that first mouthful.

Ability ([Infection]) gained.

Ability ([Fester]) gained.

Ability ([Bacterial Resistance]) gained.

The first two didn't mean a damned thing to her at the moment. It might come in handy if she planned on making someone miserable, but at this point in time, it really didn't matter. She needed to upgrade that third one, though. She needed to make sure that this wasn't what killed her.

She grabbed another handful, and another, and _another!_ She kept putting that filth into her mouth, only pausing when she received an odd message, in between the prompts for ([Improved Bacterial Resistance]) and ([Greater Bacterial Resistance]).

Ability ([Shadow Manipulation]) gained.

' _That might be my way out,_ ' she thought, ' _But first, I need to make sure it's worth it to get out of here._ '

So she kept going, putting more of it in her mouth, chewing on it while holding her breath. Finally, after her fifteenth handful, she received that much sought after message, along with two more odd ones.

Ability ([Bacterial Immunity]) gained.

Ability ([Shadow Form]) gained.

Ability ([Electricity Vulnerability]) gained.

She would have cocked her head in wonder at the last two, were this any other time, but she had more important things in mind at the moment. First, she switched on the immunity she had just gained. Even if she had already been infected, this would nullify that.

She next decided to simultaneously test out her odd gains. She mentally flipped the switch, turning on her ([Shadow Manipulation]) and ([Shadow Form]) abilities.

It had to be one of the strangest things she'd ever felt, turning into shadow. More so when she drifted out of her locker as a black mist. She resolidified as soon as she was out, dropping a couple of inches to the ground.

Unfortunately, the blood and filth that had been on her had traveled with her, leaving her in desperate need of a shower. A week long shower. She staggered down the stairs, out of the school building, and started going home, ignoring everyone, as she focused on that new development, the powers she had received from eating waste.

Taylor was not dumb. She never had been and, if she had her way, she never would be. She knew that you _did not_ simply get powers from eating a biohazard. Not shadow powers, at least, not for her. She only ever gained abilities directly related to what she was eating, some property it had that she would then be able to make use of.

That was, in fact, why she was good at math. She had eaten several calculators, when no one was looking, and gotten the ability ([Mathematics]), from Beginner to Advanced.

That aside, there was something in that locker that had not been like the rest of the filth surrounding it, and it had given her powers. Very specific powers. And a weakness, though she chose not to turn it on.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when she was stopped by a police officer.

"Miss," he said nervously, his hand on his gun, even though he didn't pull it out of the holster at his hip, "Why are you covered in blood?"

Taylor looked down at herself, remembering what she had been standing in, less than a half hour ago, then started to tear up again, "They pushed me in," she said, her voice hitching, looking at the officer with large brown eyes, "They pushed me into the locker."

It didn't take very long at all before Taylor was taken to a hospital, given a bath robe, cleaning supplies and a shower. A nurse stood in the bathroom with her, female thankfully, just to make sure she didn't do anything to hurt herself, but otherwise just stood there with her back turned, at Taylor's behest.

By the time she got out, her father was already there. He had clothes in his hands as he spoke to the doctor. She had only been in there for a max of twenty minutes. He must have broken several traffic laws to make it here in the time that he did, especially if he went home first, to pick up some spare clothes for her.

The scrunched and twisted look on the man's face told her of how angry he was. She could tell that he was holding back against the doctor, only because that was the man that was in no way responsible for Taylor's current condition.

"Dad!" she called out, so desperately wanting to run out and hug him, but she wasn't sure that she was fully cleansed yet. She might have immunity to whatever had been lurking in that locker, but that didn't mean that it had left her entirely. There still might be lingering traces on her.

The tall, skinny man turned to see her and his expression softened to one she had not seen in a long time. She was almost crying again as she looked at the man.

After a thorough examination, Taylor was cleared by the doctor to at least see her father. They wanted to keep her overnight, just in case something happened. She highly doubted it would.

"It's really a miracle," the doctor said, "She's got multiple bites and minor lacerations, and she was covered, head to toe in that garbage, but she doesn't have a single infection, anywhere." Indeed, Taylor hadn't even realized how many bugs there had been in the locker with her. She would be really unsurprised to find out that she ate some of them, though not enough to make any gains, obviously.

"Who did this?" Danny turned to his daughter.

"It doesn't matter, dad," Taylor said, her eyes turning hard, "They _won't_ be doing this again."

"Yeah," the doctor said, looking between the father and daughter, the two of them somehow sharing a moment that seemed to turn the air purple with the murder in both their eyes, "That's not at all ominous. I think I'm going to leave before I hear details of something I shouldn't."

The man made good on his promise, quickly vacating the room and Taylor couldn't help but giggle as he did so.

Sure, what she had said sounded bad, but she actually hadn't planned to do anything harmful to anyone, unless reputation counted. Because, as she was now, having eaten shit to live, she came to the conclusion that it was not going to happen again. Even if she had to bring her own weakness to the eyes of the entire world. With that in mind, she was going to neak out of the hospital, go home, get a camera, sneak into the school, take pictures of the locker she had been shoved into, and the horrifying mess it contained, and send said pictures to the local and national media.

She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was nothing she could do to the three bitches that had done it to her. It would just be her word against theirs, yet again. Instead, she could prove that she was bullied and the faculty was doing nothing about it. Maybe, just maybe, by bringing some attention to the situation, she could make Winslow High into a real beacon of education again.

And how was she going to do all of this?

Shadow powers, to start. It would help her sneak out, undoubtedly, and then she could get into the school, get the photos and get back. Second, she was going to get a meeting with Blackwell if she had to kick down the door to her office. Third, she would record that meeting as the bitch queen of that pit did _nothing. Again!_

Then she would send that, and the pictures, to news networks. The sensationalist ones first. They would take any story they could and run with it, and after the Comlubine shooting, any major incidence of bullying in schools was the stuff of national level coverage.

"So," Danny said, bringing her back to the present, "where do we go from here?"

"I dunno," the girl shrugged, leaning back in the bed, "Forward? I guess I really don't care. I'm going to get the bullying to stop, in a completely legal, devastatingly public way, and maybe get a mass cleansing of Winslow to happen on top of it. I don't care if this makes me look weak anymore, it's gotta be done. You heard the doctor, dad. If I wasn't really, _really_ lucky, I'd be dead right now. That makes this latest 'prank' attempted murder. It's time to break the mould, don't you think?"

The man nodded, "Whatever you need, kiddo, I'm here for you."

"I need a hug," she said, without an ounce of hesitation. He pulled her into an embrace and just sat there with her for who knew how long, the two of them enjoying each other's presence for the first time in more than two years.

"I also need a spycam I can put in my glasses," she said after nearly twenty minutes, "And I need it by tomorrow."

"Why?" Danny asked.

"I need to record my meeting with Blackwell. She'd going to try to sweep this under the rug. I won't let her."

"Consider it done."

-9002-

That night, just as she had planned, she used her knew Shadow abilities to get out of the hospital. She made it to the school, after stopping at her house for the camera, in record time. Moving around as a shadow was very quick, all told. And it seemed that it being night greased the wheels, so to speak, as if having real darkness manifested around her made it easier for her to move through space.

The locker was cordoned off, but they hadn't actually gotten around to cleaning it yet. Taylor shined her flashlight inside it and took more than a couple snapshots with a digital camera.

"That ought to be enough for now," she made a quick stop in the computer lab to print off ten copies of each picture, then went back to the hospital.

The next day, around noon, she finally made it back to school. She had one copy each of the locker, and all of her injuries from being pushed inside of it. Even a couple copies of herself, covered in half coagulated blood and what have you that the officer that found her insisted be taken. Those, she really liked.

Taylor walked up the steps, heading right for the office.

"Yes?" the secretary asked in monotone.

"I need to meet with Principal Blackwell," she said, with a smile.

"I'm afraid she's busy at the moment," the other woman said.

"Is she with another student?"

"No."

"Then she isn't busy enough," Taylor walked around the desk and right into the office of the woman she was about to break, ignoring the protests of the secretary, even going so far as to slam the door in her face.

"Ah, Blackwell!" The skinny girl said with a cheerful, predatory smile directed at the woman, "Just the Authority Figure I wanted to talk to!" She adjusted her glasses, subtly flipping a switch that activated the hidden camera.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the woman demanded, slamming her hands on her desk, "Do you have any idea how busy I am, after the mess in _your_ locker was discovered?"

"I really don't care," Taylor said, sitting down, reaching into her backpack, "You see, I did not put any of it in my locker. Instead, I came back from the break to find it filled with that vile amalgamation of human waste and used sanitary pads, and was then violently pushed into it."

"If you are here to claim that it was Miss Barnes, Miss Hess, and Miss Clemens, I will have you know that the three of them have rock solid alibis, corroborated by teachers. I will not hear another word about them doing something to you," Blackwell said, preemptively covering her, and their, asses.

"I know I have issues with those three," Taylor said with another, wider grin, "But to accuse them of shoving a person into _this_ ," she brought out three pictures of the locker, and one of herself covered in the goop, "That would require extraordinary evidence. Evidence I don't have. So, I won't bother you with my theories. Just the facts."

"And what facts are those?" the woman asked, as if pandering to a small child.

"Well, for instance," she pointed to the picture of herself, among the ones that Blackwell was refusing to even look at, "A student of your school, regardless of the identity of the perpetrators, was forcibly shoved into a locker full of biohazardous waste. What I want to know is, what are you going to do about it?"

"We will do all we can to find the culprits and bring them to the proper authorities," she steepled her fingers in front of her mouth, "However, our funds are already limited, severely. While we would like to hire a private investigator for every _minor_ infraction of our rules, we simply can not do so."

"Right, so, a person being shoved into a locker full of biohazards is a minor infraction," Taylor said, "Being forced to breathe in that kind of infectious pit isn't even worthy of investigating. I understand. Attempted murder just isn't what it used to be, nowadays."

Blackwell nearly choked on the air she had been drawing in to reply, "W-what?!"

"Well, yeah, attempted murder. What else could be the reason to shove me in that locker? Clearly, I have made enemies, from one source or another, and they want me dead. Since I _didn't die_ , I can see why you wouldn't want to allocate any funds to this. After all, my body isn't among the other garbage you have to sweep under the rug."

"Are you implying that I, or the staff of Winslow High School, would participate in illegal activities, such as hiding criminal activity?" the woman almost growled at her student.

"No."

"Good."

"I am outright stating that you, and your band of idiots, are complicit in my attempted murder, if only in the fact that, until now, I have come to you multiple times with complaints of bullying, and you have done nothing about it," Taylor's cheerful smile was gone, "It is your job, above all else that you might believe, to provide a safe learning environment for _every_ student. Even the gang members that walk our halls. Whom I will note you do more for than a student with above average grades(me), in that you at least break up their fights. Not once, in the last year and a half, has anything come from your hollow promises to my safety and security. This is just the latest incident that you _failed_ to look after my interests in any way. So," she pointed to the pictures one more time, "I am here to warn you. You have two weeks. Two week in which to make any, legitimate headway into ending this nonsense. Then, if nothing has been done, I send these pictures to news agencies with my story."

"Don't you dare threaten me, child!" Blackwell hissed.

"I'm not threatening you," Taylor replied, cold as ice, "I'm giving you an ultimatum. Do your god damn job, or I will find someone to do it for you." She stood up and left the office then, not even waiting for the woman to say anything more.

She flicked her hair behind her ear, turning off the camera, and headed home for the day, knowing that there was nothing more to be gained today, even if she could record any of the three bitches doing anything more to her.

For now, she had another part of her plan to enact.

It was time to get her mother's flute back.

-9002-

Well, another cross over is officially on the books. I don't know, fully, where I am going with this. Not even half as well as I knew where I was going with Levels. As such, I will be exploring a completely altered timeline, with Taylor not even meeting the Undersiders.

Now, Power Levels!

Just kidding.

Please enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2 A Dish Best Served With Fries

Welp, here we go again. I am glad that everyone was suitably disgusted by the locker scene.

Chapter Two: A Dish Best Served With Fries

After her meeting with Blackwell, Taylor simply went home. There were some things she needed to do there before she went back to school for more than an hour, and a few that she really wanted to do.

Like experiment with her new abilities.

When she received the message from the telepath on her tenth birthday, she had given up any hope of being a hero like Alexandria. She didn't really see a point in using her ability if she couldn't go out and put it to use for the greater good. She knew she could eat anything, and gain even more abilities from whatever she ate, but she literally couldn't even talk about it to people who didn't already know, so she just… didn't.

Not until the locker.

That changed everything, obviously.

Now that she had free time on her hands, though, she wanted to go play with the shadows in her home. ([Shadow Manipulation]) worked quite well with ([Shadow Form]), but did it really mean what it implied? Could she move and use shadows as she saw fit? She was going to find out.

When she got home, she wasn't surprised to see her dad already there. He had told her he would be eagerly waiting for her return, waiting for news on how the meeting with Blackwell went.

"Hey," she said, waving, "I'm pretty sure that the faculty is going to do fuck all about my attempted murder."

"Language, Kiddo," Danny said, but it wasn't so much a reprisal as reflex, "Isn't that about what you expected?"

"Yup," she agreed, "That's why I had you get me these," she shifted her glasses very purposefully, "I was able to record the entire thing. I'll have to do some editing, cut out names aside from mine, blur her face, make sure the name of the high school is still in sharp detail, but it's good to go. Two weeks from now, Winslow will either go through a major restructuring, or it will be shut down. I really don't care which."

The man nodded, a grim look on his face as he glared at the table, "I still want to know who did this, Taylor. I feel so useless, sitting here and listening to your plans to end the struggle, nothing I can add to it."

"It's okay, Dad," the girl said softly, reaching across the kitchen table and grasping his hand with hers, "I know you want to help. As long as you keep pulling me up to my feet, you're helping more than you can possibly know. I know we haven't really… talked since mom, but…" she moved around the table and hugged her father a little awkwardly, "I love you, Daddy."

The man froze up for a moment, then hugged her back, holding her tight, as if to let her go would be to lose her forever. He ran one finger through her hair and drew in several heavy, emotionally laden breaths. Taylor could practically smell the unshed tears he was holding back.

"I-I love you too, Kiddo," he said into her hair. After half a minute he let her go and started bustling about the kitchen, pulling out cooking supplies, "Pita wraps sound good for dinner tonight?"

"Sure, I'm going to my room. I have some studying to do," she put action to word then, going right up to her room, laying her backpack at the foot of her bed, and sitting down in a wicker chair.

She had brought a couple apples with her, to snack on, and began to focus on her first power. Manipulation of shadows was a lot harder than it sounded. Reaching out with the manipulation ability, she could acutely sense the shadows, but trying to get it to move, especially into her room, was a heavy struggle. It seemed like the light was searing it away, making it nearly impossible to pull it out of her closet.

"Alright, let's try something else, then," again, the skinny girl focused, this time willing the shadows to move about inside her closet, to coalesce and darken. She grin as she saw one of her shoes, barely covered by the darkness, swallowed by a cloud of black. Pulling it away, the shoe hadn't even moved, but for those few seconds she simply could not see it at all.

Next, she wanted to know what she could do with this, physically. Once more focusing on the shoe, she tried to force the tendrils of darkness to lift the shoe into the air.

They didn't even disturb the shoe laces. The shadows passed through and over the article of clothing like the hand of a ghost.

"Right, so, shadows are not a tangible force, even if I can make it look like one. Now," she looked to her own hands, "Can _I_ move things when I'm a shadow?" Slowly, she watched as her hand came undone, turning into a type of matter that did not actually have a definable weight. She had noticed it the night before, when she had been sneaking into the school, but turning into her ([Shadow Form]) was kind of chilly. The super natural cold didn't really affect her, not truly, but she could still feel it, deep in her bones, every time she used that form.

Even now, when she was only using her hand in that form, the entire limb felt cold and numb.

Taylor turned her eyes on one of the apples, and reached out towards it with her shadow hand. Instead of grasping nothing, which is honestly what she expected, the shadows clutched around the apple, turning it into shadow as well. She could actually feel it, right there in her ethereal hand, almost more solidly than if she had been using her regular flesh and blood.

She set it down and it immediately returned to normal.

"Well, now," she grinned, "That certainly has potential."

-9002-

The next day at school began rather predictably, in Taylor's opinion.

When she had first arrived, bug bites on her arms and neck fully visible, some people had stared in puzzlement, though some obviously knew where they came from. Greg Veder appeared as if he even had trouble looking at her. She honestly didn't have a problem with that. If anyone could make her turn lesbian, it would be that cape fanboy.

It wasn't until she actually made it inside the building that things began happening as she imagined they would. Girls that she knew hung out with the trio were pointing at her and pinching their noses, as if smelling something awful. Some of the boys made loud comments, asking what smelled.

"My god!" came the voice of Emma Barnes as Taylor approached her new locker, "What is that horrid stench?" she smirked like the cat that ate the canary, "Oh, it's just Taylor. No surprise there."

"Huh," Sophia Hess said, a grin on her lips despite the monotone she spoke in, "I would think that, if someone shoved me in a locker full of that kinda shit, I'd take the hint and never come back to school. Guess some people are just born stupid."

"Wow," Madison Clemens spoke up next, "I know, right? I mean, can you just imagine how dumb someone like her must be? Can she even tie her own shoes? She obviously can't dress herself."

Taylor took it all in stride, cursing the fact that she hadn't uploaded the video from Blackwell's office yet. As much as she would give to get this on tape, bringing down the faculty was the bigger goal here.

Still, she was not really the same girl she had been two days ago, and two could play at this game.

"Hey, Vincent!" she called out to the jock, "Your dad's a cop, right?"

"Uh, yeah, what about it?" The large teen asked. As far as memory served, Hebert wasn't on his friend list. He shared four classes with her, but that was it. He knew those three girls that were staring at them had something against her, but he didn't give a damn. It wasn't his business and he was _not_ going to get involved.

"Well, I was just wondering," Taylor went on, not even bothering to glance at the three bitches, "what is it called when a person has their personal property damaged beyond repair, get hit and kicked, and, most importantly, what it's called when someone is maliciously exposed to extreme amounts of biohazardous waste?" she thought for a moment, "I guess it doesn't matter too much right now, but I'm planning on suing whoever pushed me into the locker, ya know? I mean, I don't know who did it, but it's only a matter of time. After all," her gaze turned cold and unfeeling, "Something like that would leave evidence. No matter how well hidden."

"Uh," he scratched the back of his neck, "Let's see. Malicious Destruction of Private Property, Assault, and, uh, I'd have to ask my dad about that last one. No way it's not serious though. That's the kind of shit that can get a person killed," frowned for a moment, looking at her bite marks, "Are you, ya know, alright? I mean, no, ya ain't, of course, but, uh, will you be?"

Taylor turned a surprised, but happy smile, on the taller boy, "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just gotta take some time to get over it. I mean, really. What kind of sociopathic, merciless, psychotic motherfucker just pushes another living, breathing human being into that kind of filth. Seems to me that that kind of person should be locked up and kept away from normal people."

"Why you-?!" Sophia yelled, taking a threatening step forward.

"Oh, Sophia, how are you today?" Taylor asked, pretending that she hadn't noticed the black girl before that point, "Is something the matter? You look flustered," she shrugged, "Maybe you can help me out. I was just telling Vincent here that the psychotic freak of nature that shoved me into the locker a couple days ago deserves to be kept away from the general populace, for the safety of everyone around them. I mean, wouldn't you agree, that kind of sick individual must have a stupid philosophy, like some barbaric and outdated predator-prey mindset so dumb that a brainless sycophant would fall for it the first chance they got? People like that shouldn't be allowed to live with regular people, right?"

Sophia punched her square in the face with a scream of rage.

"Hey!" Vincent roared, shocking Hess, "The fuck is your problem?!"

"Did you hear what she just said about me?!" Sophia screamed back, preparing to kick Taylor while she was down. She was stopped when the larger teen stepped in her path.

"She didn't say a damned thing about you, not unless you're admitting to being the one who shoved her in the locker," he glared down at her, his brow furrowing impressively, "I'd have to tell my dad if you were, and the police won't give a shit if you're a track star, you'll still go to prison."

The girl huffed angrily, glared at Taylor meaningfully, and turned around to walk away with her two sycophants.

"Thanks," Taylor said, the side of her face already swelling up and her eye reddening, "But you shouldn't have done that. They will probably do something to you, now, too."

The boy shrugged, "Difference between you and me, is I ain't on the bottom of the food chain. They do something to me, they get noticed for it. They'll probably just do somethin' dumb to my locker and then that will be it," he held her chin, causing the girl to blush, looking at her swelling bruise, "You need to go to the nurse. Come on, I'll take you. Nothing will stick on them, so I ain't staying around to say nothin', but I can atleast escort you there."

"Again, thanks," it wasn't much, certainly not compared everything she had gone through up to that point, but it was enough to earn a small amount of gratitude. If the fecal matter hit the turbine like she expected to, she would try and make sure he got as little of the splatter as possible.

On the other hand, Taylor was going to use her ([Shadow Form]) to get revenge on those three. Nothing they could prove, that would make her as dumb as they claimed. She'd never turn solid in any of their houses, and only do things when they were away, but vengeance would be hers.

And she was going to save Sophia for last. Taylor probably would have done Emma last, one final homage to their dead friendship, but the other bitch just punched her in the face. That was decidedly not cool.

The rest of the day was spent with a horrid black eye.

It wasn't until Mister Gladly's class that anyone tried to bring attention to her obvious injury.

"Oh, god, Taylor," the man said, "What happened?"

She put on her best innocent face, which was helped along quite nicely by the swollen eye, "I don't know, Mister G. I was minding my own business, talking to an acquaintance in the halls, when some violent, sociopathic thug punched me in the face for no discernable reason. I didn't get a good look at the person, but I'll bet you dimes to dollars that it was the same attempted murderer that shoved me into that filthy locker."

"Now, Taylor, that is no way to talk about a fellow classmate," Gladly scolded lightly.

"I'm not talking about a classmate, Mister Gladly," the girl said, "I'm talking about the type of person who thinks they have the right to judge who lives and who dies. I'm talking about someone like _Jack Slash_ ," the entire class gasped appropriately, "After all, who else would _torture_ someone by stuffing them violently into a confined space, filled with the nastiest substances known to man, begging for help for over an hour, with no one coming to their rescue?" she shrugged, "Sounds like the work of an S-Nine candidate to me, not a classmate," she started to move to her desk, then noticed the seat was covered in glue, "Mister Gladly, my chair is covered in a sticky, white substance. What should I do?" the class snorted as one at her description.

The teacher in title only moved over to the desk to see what she was talking about.

"Did you notice anyone messing around by my desk?" she asked him.

The answer, of course, was yes. He had seen Madison doing something, but didn't do anything to stop her because she was one of the popular ones, one of the in crowd. Also, she hung out with Sophia, but that was kind of a side thing.

"I can't say that I did. You'll just have to ignore it for now. Sit down, Taylor," he insisted.

"Sir, are you seriously telling me that you want me to sit down in some viscous, sticky, white material from an unknown source?" her one open eye watered, "What if it's a trick, some kind of chemical that will get into my bug bites and make them burn? Or worse? Wouldn't it be safer if I just sat at a different desk?"

"I'm sure it's just glue," the man said.

"Glue would stick me to my seat, and I'd be late for my next class," Taylor said.

"Very well," the man sighed, "Take a seat by Greg." The teen in question waved.

"I think I'd rather sit in the glue."

-9002-

Sophia really gave her what for in gym class that day, taking every viable opportunity she had to push, or trip, or outright kick Taylor.

The skinny girl really wished she had eaten something that would give her the ability to fight back. Maybe a martial arts magazine? Oh, hey! Maybe she could gain the abilities in that silly Japanese cartoon that her dad liked so much. TPC, or some such. That would be cool.

Still, none of that mattered at the moment. She didn't have anything protecting her from the most violent of trio. By the end of the class she would have several more bruises. She didn't bother complaining to the coach.

The only time she did before he said, "Then kick the bitch back!"

Hmm… No, that wouldn't look good. Coach Arnson may not give her detention, but no doubt Blackwell would in his place.

So, she took it, limping home that day from the pain in her left shin.

Setting her backpack at the foot of her bed again, she called her dad at work.

"Hey, dad," Taylor said, "Just letting you know I made it back from school, like you asked. Yeah, the bullying is still happening, but they don't know it's about to end. Listen, I'm going to start running in the afternoons. I know it's dangerous, but with it being daylight, as long as I stay in public places, I should be okay… Mace? You bought mace? Yeah, I'll take it with me. Later, Dad," she said finally, "I love you, too."

She pulled the can of mace out of a drawer in the kitchen and shoved it into her mouth, biting down without any hesitation. Just like everything else, it was easy for her to consume.

Ability ([Aerosol Deterrent]) gained.

Ability ([ Aerosol Deterrent Immunity]) gained.

Taylor turned around and opened her mouth. Instantly, pepper spray came from her maw, painting the counter a reddish orange.

"Hmm," she said, smacking her lips, "Has an aftertaste." She wiped up the spray then turned into her ([Shadow Form]) and flew into the pipes, going into the sewer. She figured it would be easier for her if no one saw her approaching the houses of her three targets as a living shadow. That would be kind of weird.

It took her a little over an hour to find the right drain that led to Madison's house. She sent a tendril up through the sink, listening for anyone in the home. There were no sounds of movement, so she next peaked a shadowy eye into the home.

It looked like the entire family was out and about. Convenient.

Staying in ([Shadow Form]) she began exploring the house. She slithered under doors and into cupboards and drawers. As expected, nowhere in Madison's house could she find her mother's flute.

She did, however, find Madison's room. If she could have spoken while made of shadows, she would have tapped the ends of her fingers together and said, "Ooooh, yes! This has promise!"

The room was tidy, well kept, and blindingly pink. It had boy band posters, fluffy animal plushies, and a large vanity mirror on top of a dresser that was a light shade of pink. The best part, however, was the labels. Apparently, Madison had a compulsive need to label her drawers.

Going directly for the, clearly labeled, underwear drawer, she shifted in, glancing at the various bits of lace. Some of it was just way too cutesy. It really was hard to remember that Madison was a high school student, and not a grade schooler.

Taylor picked the pinkest, laciest pair of panties and grabbed them, turning them to shadow. She grabbed another couple of pairs, then exited the drawer. She looked about, found a jewelry box, and pilfered that as well, taking an earing and another piercing of indistinct placement. Taylor would assume navel. Both of them had gemstones, one even a diamond, so they would definitely be missed. That done, Taylor moved into the attic of the house, into an unseen and dusty corridor and dropped her loot there.

She quickly went back into the upstairs bathroom, retrieved some white colored body wash and oils, a cup, and a foul smelling hair removal spray. Going back to the attic, she turned solid for the first time since her arrival. She poured the body wash and oil into the cup and mixed it around with her finger. She then sprayed it with the hair removal gunk, causing the smell to go from slightly pleasant to rather funky. She proceeded to drizzle it over the panties and jewelry, a grin on her face the entire time.

Now Taylor had never been in a position to see, or smell, male sexual excretions, so she wasn't entirely sure of how real it looked. But she was sure that, when this was found, only one conclusion would be jumped to. Now she just needed to find an old ratty coat, some opened cans of food, dog food for the most of them, and a pair of boots and the scene would be complete.

As she was stealing some of the dogfood in the kitchen of the house, she couldn't stop herself from grinning. She poured the contents of the can into the empty dog bowl, so it wouldn't go to waste, and set the open containers around the display she had made upstairs. This was just way too good. She almost wondered how she was going to top it at Emma and Sophia's houses.

It wouldn't be for some time that the little 'shrine' was discovered, and she made sure to put everything that wasn't part of the display back in their proper places so no one would be the wiser until Madison noticed some of her underwear was missing. She wished she could be there to see there faces when they found it.

That night, when Taylor slept, she dreamt of Madison jumping at every shadow, constantly checking herself to see if she was still wearing underwear.

-9002-

If I hated someone, I would do this to them, had I the capability.

Please enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3 Emotional Smorgasbord

Chapter Three: Emotional Smorgasbord

Taylor woke up the next day with a frown on her face. That night, as said, she had dreams of Madison's reaction to the horrific prank she had played.

And one of her mother.

Annette Hebert was a perfect woman in Taylor's opinion. She had never been overly busty, but curved in just the right places, in just the right amount, to make everyone around her turn their heads. Her father had always said that he was lucky she chose him. She was intelligent, kind, beautiful. Perfect.

Last night, her perfect frown had looked in Taylor's direction. It was just a dream. It could only be a dream. Her mother had been dead for nearly three years. But still, it felt real, that quiet disapproval. Something the teen girl had down disappointed her mother.

And she could guess what.

Even if it was only a dream version, she knew the woman didn't like the prank she had played on Madison Clemens. She didn't like the pranks that Taylor had planned to pull on Sophia and Emma. Annette Hebert had not believed in revenge, nor escalation.

She believed in equality and justice.

She knew that her mother had been one of Lustrum's followers once, believing the parahuman to be an activist for gender equality. She quit that the moment that the members of that gang started attacking men for daring to be born male. That was not equality, that was terrorism.

"Damn it…" Taylor muttered to her cereal, "I'm pathetic. I can't even get revenge without feeling bad for it." She munched on her cold breakfast for another couple of moments, thinking about everything her mother had ever taught her.

She didn't believe in revenge. She believed in justice.

Justice.

 _ **Justice.**_

"Aha," she nodded into her bowl, glad that her father went into work early, so he didn't see her talking to herself, "I'm not going to prank them, I'm not going to get vengeance. I'm going to get justice. Even if I have to take it into my own hands to make sure it happens." She grinned an unfriendly grin.

That said, she had no plans on cleaning up the prank she had pulled on Clemens. It was too good to waste like that. They'd never find out it was her, and she could consider the one, small, payback she'd have for a year and a half of hell.

She'd get her justice, though. Of that there was no doubt.

She began to like the word, the more she rolled it over in her head. Justice. Justice! Justicejusticejustice **JUSTICE!**

She repeated it again and again to herself until the syllables became mush and the letters meaningless. She kept going, dissecting each part of the word like a frog in a science class. It was said in different accents, with different insinuations, in different languages. She actually had to look up the word in some of the bilingual dictionaries they had around the house.

She stopped after noon came around.

Taylor had told Danny that she was going to start running during the day and she meant it. She had a little bit of pudge around her middle, and a daily jog would get rid of that in no time flat. So, she put on her best sneakers, sweatpants and a hoodie. It was a brisk January day, but she knew that when you were physically active, even on a cold day, you could easily overheat if you were wearing too many layers.

She took a deep breath of the freezing air, let it out through her nose, making her look like she was snorting steam, and started a light jog.

Fifty feet in and her lungs started to burn. Once around the block and it felt like her legs were turning into noodles. Second lap and it felt like her heart was going to burst out of her ribcage and her veins were pumping liquid pain.

She all but collapsed on the couch, sweat pouring off of her forehead. It was five degrees outside, but to her, it felt like it was a hundred and twelve. Her hair stuck to her forehead and neck, feeling icky, and the back of her shirt clung to her skin, also drenched.

"Oh, god, I hope that gets a lot easier," she moaned, practically melting into the sofa.

Not wanting to move, but not feeling like sitting there in silence, she turned on the TV. There was a cartoon on that she had never really cared for. Some asian show about training pets to be murder beasts and shoot lightning from their faces.

It reminded her of something she had been thinking recently. She could gain abilities from anything she ate. Simple enough. She ate a calculator, she got math skills. She ate pepper spray and could blast it from her mouth or hands.

What if she ate a book? What if she ate a comic book?

If she ate manual on martial arts, would she instantly know that martial art?

She'd have to find out. She went to stand, then groaned as her legs protested.

"I'll test it later," she turned it over to the Discovery channel, and spent the rest of that afternoon watching a show about life on an African savannah.

-9002-

That evening, after a brief, mostly quiet dinner with her father, she went to her room and pulled out a journal, eagerly writing down some of the abilities she had gained since her time in the locker and what she knew about them so far.

"My next test," she said to herself quietly as she wrote it down, "is to eat a book, to see what, if any, power is to be gained. Starting with an old dictionary." She pulled the out of date tome in front of herself, briefly wondering if it would taste good, but knowing it had to have a better flavor that some of the _other_ things she had eaten recently.

The first bite yielded no results, the same for the second. It wasn't until the third, then the seventh after that, that she gained anything else at all.

Ability ([Paper Light]) gained.

Ability ([Paper Cut]) gained.

"The hell? That has nothing to do with the dictionary," she grumbled, but tried them out, anyway.

([Paper Light]) as the name implied, made her weigh only as much as paper would, if someone had made a life sized origami human. She probably had only twenty pounds to her name when that was on. It wasn't something she could really see being useful at the moment.

The next, ([Paper Cut]), was freaking scary! She never really thought about how sharp paper was. Sure, she'd had cuts from them before, but she hadn't actually thought it as more than a fluke. A really annoying fluke.

But paper was _sharp_ , extremely so. It was only it's flimsy rigidity that kept it from cutting people's fingers off, instead of superficial wounds at worst.

Taylor got to see, and experiment with, exactly what that kind of edge could do when some real power was put behind it. Using it on her fingernail, she had cut through the leather of an old shoe like it was butter. Applying it to the edge of her hand she swiped the top of an empty soda can and it separated as if it had never been attached in the first place.

The girl looked at her hand, wide eyed.

"Holy shit," she breathed, "I can _only_ use this in emergencies. This'll kill somebody. On accident."

Shocked as she was, she still wrote the abilities down, then moved on to her next test.

Having planned most of this out, far in advance of the actual testing, she had scavenged some old metal tools from the basement and hidden them in her room. They were repairman tools that her grandfather on her dad's side used to have. Obviously, he didn't use them anymore. They had years of dust accrued on them, and it would take a real thorough washing to remove it all. Some of them were more rust than metal.

Still, they were perfect for her needs. Taylor picked a wrench out of the set and stuck it in her mouth, taking a bite and chewing.

"Huh," she mumbled after swallowing that first bite, "Tangy." Again, it wasn't until the third bite that she got anything.

Ability ([Hardness: Steel]) gained.

Ability ([Handy]) gained.

"Okay, what?"

She turned on the second power, and immediately knew how to make adjustments to the lighting fixtures of her room and understood how to fix almost everything she saw, should it break in simple ways. She had become a handyman.

"That's… useful?" Taylor mumbled, crossing her arms and tilting her head from one side to the next, "Suppose I could take Shop Class next year," she reasoned.

Turning on ([Hardness: Steel]) did exactly as it should, making her body as hard as steel. It didn't change the color of her skin, but tapping her fingers together made clinking sounds, like a steel pipes little clashing.

"Oho," she almost crowed, barely keeping the volume down and bringing her dad up to ask questions. She had the immediate thought of using this ability in conjunction with ([Paper Cut]). She had seen what using it with only her normal hand had done. What would happen if she applied it to herself when she was hard as steel? Literally?

Wondering if she could improve both of those abilities, she went back to the tool box and started eating more of the tools inside. She didn't stop until there were no tools left, then ate the metal box itself.

Ability ([Improved Hardness: Steel]) gained.

Ability ([Rust]) gained.

Ability ([Steel Skin]) gained.

Ability ([Adjustable]) gained.

Ability ([Contain]) gained.

The first replaced ([Hardness: Steel]), making her body heavy and more durable than she could believe. The second, after a quick moment of testing, could make any metal that could rust away, do so in seconds. The third made her skin grey and shine like a mirror.

The fourth was weird.

When Taylor activated it, she found that she could… well, adjust herself. Her height, the length of her hair, her skin color.

"Okay," she said, "Bullshit. I call bullshit." The knurl that appeared on her wrist, allowing her to dial her skin tone from pale white to black as night, sinking back into her skin, another appearing on her forehead, allowing her to change the length of her hair.

It seemed that, if she thought about what she wanted to change about herself, as long as she a before and after in mind, a knurl would appear and she could roll it up or down as she saw fit between the two pictures in her mind's eye. She grinned, her face tinged with a little bit of pink, as she made one appear on her chest.

With a few turns her barely A cups turned into obscene F cups.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" She whimpered, quickly turning herself back down to normal. She hadn't even thought about what would happen should the bra she was wearing _not_ transform with her bust. It hurt like the dickens, is what.

She removed her baggy shirt and looked at her chest, grimacing at the bloody red trenches she had carved into herself.

"Son of a bitch," Taylor cursed. Then an idea occurred to her. Another knurl appeared on her chest, and she spun it down. Instead of increasing or decreasing her bust, her wounds shrank then disappeared, leaving unblemished skin.

"I repeat," she said with a massive grin, "Bullshit. All kinds of bullshit."

She then turned to the mirror, imagining her face next to Angelina Jolie's. To her surprise, another adjustable wheel didn't appear. She frowned in thought.

She focused on the difference between their lips, hers and Angelina's, and one appeared on her chin. She tried thinking of their faces again, and nothing.

"Right then, specific changes-no," she grinned a little to herself, " _adjustments_ only. Nothing broad." She could probably look like the actress, if she took her time and changed her features, one by one, but that would take a lot of time. And, despite the obvious uses for this, she realized she'd need to do a lot more testing before she used it for anything more than some fun and temporary body modding.

She quickly discovered there were two ways for her to gain and reduce her height, the first was changing the length of her torso, the second was changing the length of her legs. Nothing else changed, though. Not her arms for one, or her shoulders. It made her look mutate, with arms too short for her torso, or legs too long. She undid every change before moving onto the next one, thankfully, not wanting to know what would happen if she didn't. She didn't trust herself enough to rely on her own body image to return it back to normal should she mess up.

That said, she removed her bra, put on an extremely baggy hoodie, and ratcheted up her bust until the zipper strained. She grinned down at her new boobs, even knowing she couldn't keep them. She left the final knurl on, wrote down her findings, and moved on to her final ability.

([Contain]) was cool, and somewhat creepy. It allowed her to open a compartment, anywhere on her body, and put things inside of it. It wasn't a magical doorway to an infinite space, or a bag of holding, or anything else like that, but, within the space of her forearm, she could easily store several pencils, or even a knife. Within her chest, she could store a couple of books, or even a change of clothes, should the need arise.

That was, her actual chest and not her currently gargantuan mammaries. She didn't see the point in seeing what she could hold there, since she wouldn't have them for long.

Again, Taylor wrote down what she had discovered so far. Her abilities made her rather powerful, all told. A cutting edge as fine as paper, hard as steel, with the propensity to be changed to suit her needs.

Having a sudden flash of inspiration, she dialed her chest back to normal. She then turned on ([Improved Hardness: Steel]) and ([Adjustable]). A knurl appeared on her stomach and she pushed it all the way up, making herself as hard as diamond.

"Holy crap," she uttered to her room, "This is so goddamn overpowered. I freakin' love it!"

For the rest of that evening, she played with her ([Adjustable]) ability. Figuring out it's limits and changing things about herself to look ridiculous, then turning them back. As it would turn out, she couldn't change anything metaphorical about herself with one of her knurls. Like her thoughts, she couldn't adjust the way she thought about things. But she could change the number of connective nerves in her brain.

The first time she tried it, it hurt like the dickens. Taylor resolved not to try that again until she knew exactly what she was doing. Sure, she took a biology class at Winslow, but a brain surgeon that did not make.

That night, Taylor Hebert fell asleep with a bit more muscle tone and full A cups. She planned to grow them out to a mild C by the end of the year, and bloating them enormously any time she felt like it in private. It felt good to have something about herself be feminine, aside from her hair.

-9002-

When she went back to school on Monday, Taylor made eye contact with Principal Blackwell, miming tapping on her watch, indicating that the time was ticking down. The woman frowned at her, but nothing else.

As usual, the trio were vicious in return for her lambasting of them, by proxy, on the Friday previous. That morning she found her locker filled with, thankfully sealed, tampons. It did its purpose in reminding her of her entrapment in that pit by their hands. It also served to ruin her mood.

She had been indifferent about the day, now she was hateful. She contemplated all the ways she could get each over them back, now that she had the power to do so, even with the voice of her mother in the back of her head.

 _Justice, not revenge._ It kept saying to her.

But it didn't stop her from daydreaming about it.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to brighten her day. Nothing did. Not getting a passing wave from Vincent. Not being thankfully ignored by Gladly. Not even finding a new spot to eat her lunch that three of them hadn't found yet.

No, the only thing that brought up her mood was when she heard that Emma's family would be going out of town on Wednesday for a shoot. The teen model was going to be doing some stock photos for a clothing company, or something. It really didn't matter.

"Daddy says it will be a major step up from all of the usual rigmarole, and open some major doors in modelling for me," Emma boasted in the last class of the day.

"So, where are you going?" Madison asked.

"Just to Boston, but I'll be gone for a couple of days," the redhead shrugged.

"Bare your teeth," Sophia said by way of encouragement.

Taylor would have scoffed, if it wouldn't have brought their attention on her again.

Still, now she had an opening. She would hit Emma's house tomorrow. She wouldn't do anything to her like she had Madison, but she would look for evidence, anything she could use, of the girl's wrongs against her.

-9002-

If Taylor was a thief, breaking into people's houses would be ridiculously easy with her ([Shadow Form]). No security system in the world was set to stop _shadows_ from existing in a room. Taylor even surmised that, as long as it wasn't airtight, she could get into any room on the planet.

So, breaking into Emma's upscale home in the upper class suburbs wasn't even worth mentioning for difficulty.

Just like with the Clemens home, the skinny girl came up through the pipes, and started slithering about the house, looking through cabinets and drawers and a few hidden compartments for her mother's flute before she turned her attention on Emma's room.

Just like the last time she had visited it, over two years ago, the walls were a pastel blue and plastered with pictures of boy bands, though they had changed to match the current hot groups. On a shelf sat well over a dozen stuffed animals and expensive dolls, including an Alexandria figure that Taylor had wanted so much when she was younger. The model's closet was big enough to need several long legged strides to cross from the entrance to the back, and it was full of every kind of clothing Taylor could remember ever seeing the other girl in.

The dresser was made of mahogany and had a huge vanity mirror on it, decorated with more pictures from Emma's vacations. She noticed that none of the ones with herself in them remained on the tableau.

Taylor began searching for clues, evidence, proof of what this traitorous bitch had put her through. A diary, hopefully. Pictures, unlikely. A video, with Sophia, Madison, and Emma claiming full responsibility for everything they had ever done, only in her dreams.

As luck would have it, Emma's that is, the model had only kept proof of their bullying on her phone, which she was never without.

What she had left behind though, having no way to transport it, nor any reason to, was the bent and dirty form of Annette Hebert's flute.

Taylor found it, hidden well, behind one of the boy band posters. She only knew to look there because she had been the one to find this secret cubby in the model's room when they were nine. Back then, they had stored pictures of handsome actors there.

Now, she found one of the few things in this world that meant more to her than anything else.

Even dirty and bent, the esper held it reverently, pulling it close to her chest. She was unprepared for the wave of emotion that hit her like a hammerblow to the face.

The girl almost panicked. She needed to turn back to normal, she needed to be solid for this, she needed to be herself! She quickly flew into the drain of the sink in Emma's private bathroom, down into the sewers. It took only a couple minutes to find a large enough chamber.

She shut off ([Shadow Form]) and fell to her knees, clutching the irreparably damaged instrument to herself, and _cried_.

It started small at first, just a few tears and some quiet sobs, but that quickly turned into wails of grief and regret. Only a few moments after she started, she was almost screaming with intensity of her emotional surge.

It wasn't just the flute. It wasn't the locker. It wasn't the hurtful words, the petty pranks, or the outright physical abuse. It was all of it. Three years of suppressed emotion came pouring out of her. Every negative emotion from the time of her mother's death until the locker. Every single useless meeting with the Winslow staff, every silent dinner with her father, every instance of isolation. Everything.

For more than an hour the girl cried. She knew the stink of the sewer had long since seeped into her clothing and hair, but she couldn't care less. Taylor was venting her entire heart into that alcove of the sewers. The stink could be washed off later.

Later that night, when Danny came home, it was to find his daughter sitting at the kitchen table, her hair still wet from a recent shower, and her eyes red and puffy.

"Kiddo?" He asked tentatively, "What happened?"

In answer, Taylor placed the bent, though cleaned, flute on the table. At first, the man didn't recognize it. It looked so… different from the last time he saw it.

Then it dawned on him.

Just as slowly and lovingly as Taylor had, he picked it up, inspecting the instrument.

"I found it," the girl said, "They took it, but I finally found it," she sniffed, wiping a fresh set of tears from her eyes, "I'm sorry."

The man set the silver flute down and pulled his little girl into a tight embrace, his own eyes watering freely. He had been waiting for this, ever since he had picked her up from the hospital. To him, it was obvious the girl was in shock, or something similar, there was no other way for her to be so chipper after such a horrible event. Nothing healthy could make her act that way.

So this, this was what she really needed. Closure, of one kind or another, to help her. Finding Annette's instrument was just the trigger.

"It's okay," he said to her, brushing her hair with his fingers and kissing the side of her head, "It's all going to be okay. I promise."

Taylor began to cry again, without the loud sobs this time, and clutched her father tighter, burying her face into his chest. She loved her dad, but it wasn't until this moment that she realized just how much. For awhile now, it felt like they had been growing apart, but she knew that, if she lost him too, her entire world would implode.

There had been days, regretful dark days, where she had wished it had been him, instead of her mother, that had died in the wreck. She cursed herself for ever thinking such a thing. It would hurt just as much if it had been him that had been lost.

"I love you, Daddy," she said, "I love you."

"I love you, too, kiddo," he whispered to her, "Never doubt it." The family of two held onto one another for the entire evening, going so far as to fall asleep on the couch, rather than going to their individual rooms. They had spent the evening cheering up and bonding with some of their favorite movies from happier days.

It wasn't perfect, without Taylor's mother it would never be perfect, but it was getting better.

-9002-

Yes, 'Knurl' is a real word. I invite you to type it into google images. I can say, from personal experience, that you shouldn't find pictures that are not safe for work.

Please Enjoy.


	4. Chapter 4 Hate Flambe

Chapter Four: Hate Flambe

A scream like none before it bounced violently off the sewer walls before the walls and pipes shook. The foul waters rippled and splashed.

Taylor pulled her steel colored fist out of the wall, screamed again, and punched another hole in the brick right next to it.

"It fucking figures!" she roared, punching the wall so hard she actually felt it through her ([Steel Skin]) ability. She formed a knurl on the back of her fist, spinning it up, drastically increasing the hardness, then punched the wall yet again. Her fist, harder than diamond, cut through the brick like a truck through a cow on the road.

That is to say, a lot less cutting and a whole lot more crushing and splattering.

She ripped her arm back out of the hole she'd just made, taking several deep breaths. If it was fresh air, it might have helped. As it was, the stench of the sewer cubby she had claimed was only serving to exacerbate her temper.

"I need air."

Taylor turned off her ([Steel Skin]), shifted into ([Shadow Form]), and moved upwards through the pipes. It took less than a minute to reach the cool night, but the brisk winds were just what she needed.

 _Justice, not vengeance._ Her mother's voice whispered in the back of her mind.

A new surge of agitation and rage arched through her as she remembered exactly what she had seen, earlier that evening.

Sophia Hess was a 'hero'.

Taylor had followed the same routine with the Hess household that she had for the Clemens and Barnes homes. It was a bit more difficult, time consuming. There was always someone there. There was never a time where the house was completely empty. It took the skinny girl a week to find the proper time to get in and do some digging.

And the very first thing she found, on the very first night, had her clenching her fists so hard that her palms bled.

 _Justice, not Vengeance._ Taylor hissed out a breath of hot air into the winter night. Clenching her eyes shut, she tried to live by her mother's ideal, even in her own thoughts, because that would just be the start. Thinking about it would lead to planning it. Planning it would lead to doing it.

The 'It' in this case being the outright murder of Sophia Fucking Hess.

Taylor wasn't actually sure what, exactly, Sophia's middle name was, but it started with an 'F', so 'Fucking' seemed appropriate.

In Sophia's closet, Taylor found a black hockey mask. It was kind of an odd thing to find there, but who knew, maybe the bitch had a boyfriend who played. It wouldn't be too strange, Taylor not knowing before hand, seeing as she could care less about the black girl's love life than she did about her track performances.

 _Justice, not Vengeance!_ Taylor bit her lip, took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

The mask, as said, wasn't really that odd. The padded suit was a bit more. But, you needed pads in hockey, right? Kind of dumb to go into the rink without them… But why was her supposed boyfriend storing them at Sophia's house? Did he only do it secretly? Did his parents not know?

Maybe this was one of those things that could be used against the Trio. Something that could tip those scales and get her some comeuppance.

It was kind of strange, thought, that the padded suit seemed to match a slimmer body.

 _Justice! Not Vengeance!_ Taylor punched the rail she was leaning on, grunting with a heavily restrained scream.

All pretense of boyfriends and secret hockey players went right out the window when the Esper found the crossbow bolts. Bolts filled with an iridescent green substance that she could guess was some kind of sleeping agent. Tranquilizer arrows, too short to be shot out of a bow, too big to be darts. They were shot out of a crossbow. There was no other way.

After finding out she could never use her powers to be a hero, Taylor had lost a lot of her interest in the cape scene. It was hard to go completely off the grid with that kind of thing, though, when every TV channel that existed had some mention of them or another. Ads, TV spots, interviews, casualty lists, toy commercials, migration patterns, cartoons, underwear with heroes printed on the cloth. The list goes on.

 _JUSTICE! NOT VENGEANCE!_ Taylor almost curled into herself, standing right there, holding her head in her hands. She wanted to scream so badly, but she didn't want anyone to call the police. She didn't even notice that her nose was bleeding.

One of the heroes, one of the Wards in Brockton Bay, was a shadow themed hero called Shadow Stalker. She wore a hockey mask and padded armor. She used crossbows and Tranq arrows. She could turn into a shadowy mist.

If that wasn't enough of a hint(it was), the girl herself phased into her room, using her shadows.

A stalemate happened then, for all of two seconds. Taylor stared at the Cape, Sophia stared at the Esper. Both were in ([Shadow Form]) but could see each other's features perfectly well.

Sophia began to frown and open her mouth, but the look of utter, soul searing hatred that appeared on Taylor's face caught her so completely off guard that she actually took a step back.

That hesitation was all the opening the skinny girl needed to escape.

The only thing she ended up hearing the 'hero' say was, "Oh, fuck."

 _JUSTICE! Not-_

Justice _is_ vengeance.

Perhaps, for the first time in two weeks, Taylor really understood that the voice in her head, telling her to be upright and just, was not truly the voice of her dead mother. It couldn't be, obviously. It was a figment, immaterial. _Not real_.

Annette Hebert was dead. Whatever her beliefs had been, they mattered little now.

Halfway around the world, a telepath winced in pain.

In her hazy rage, Taylor noticed two things.

One, she had bitten down on her lip, harder than she thought.

Two, she had made gains from ingesting her own blood.

Ability ([Perfect Consumption]) gained.

Ability ([Shadow Mastery]) gained.

"What?"

The shock of the messages was like pouring icy water on fire, quenching the burning rage better than anything else could. She didn't need to turn the two techniques on, they were already activated. The surprising part, Taylor would say, is that the first attached to her in born gift of Consumption Absorption. And she could guess what it did, too.

If consumption absorption allowed her to make some epic gains from the things she ate, ([Perfect Consumption]) could mean a couple of things. One, it might be that, rather than being required to eat a specific amount of a thing to get abilities from it, she just needed one bite, one taste, to absorb it. Two, maybe it simply converted everything she ate directly into energy.

Testing was required.

Taylor had not forgotten her rage, had not forgotten what she had found out about Hess. She _never_ would forget it. But now she had a productive channel for it. She had a blade to hone.

-9002-

Sophia Hess stepped into the office of Director Emily Piggot, a look of pinched annoyance on her usually pretty face.

"What?" Piggot asked, not bothering to look up from her paperwork at her second most troublesome Ward. The first was actually Clockblocker. The little shit couldn't keep his damned mouth shut, thought he was funny. He'd done more monitor time and PR-Ed than any other ward on this side of the state line.

"Someone knows my C.I.D." Sophia said curtly, cutting straight to the point.

That got Piggot to look up at her, her eyes cold and unfeeling, but showing the barest hint of panic as her double chin wobbled from the sudden movement.

"Who? How? Why?"

"Taylor Hebert. She's a Parahuman too. She doesn't like me," saying it like that, after seeing the _murder_ in Hebert's face just thirty minutes ago, felt like the understatement of the century.

"Why am I not surprised?" the fat woman said, steepling her fingers together as she regarded the black girl, "How sure are you that this is the girl you think it is?"

"One hundred percent. Hebert's got a face you could forget, but she was using powers, _in my bedroom_. Makes her a bit more memorable," the teen crossed her arms over her chest armor.

Silence reigned for a few moments, then Piggot spoke, "What are her powers?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say she had _my_ powers," the Ward began, then went into more detail, "I was running late tonight, so I phased through my wall. I first saw Hebert standing in front of my closet, holding one of my crossbow and dart sets. Like me, she was made out of shadow, but I could see her clearly, so apparently that's a thing. I'd say either she could see me, or guessed at my identity after that, because she flitted out my window like a fart in the wind," Sophia resisted the urge to grin at that descriptor for Hebert, "She was angry when she saw me."

"Why?"

"Like I know?" Sophia lied easily, "Bitch has had a hard on for me ever since Emma Barnes dumped her in the dirt to hang out with me. Always trying to get me in trouble, too."

Another few moments of silence, "Very well, Armsmaster will go to detain her. You will observe the interrogation to make sure we have the right girl."

"Yes, Ma'am."

-9002-

"You will come with me," the words were practically growled from the well known hero in the heavy power armor.

Taylor's eyes were wide, understandably, as she looked at the man that had, at one point, been one of her idols.

"I… Er… Yes?" she stepped out of her house, glad that her dad was still at work, having taken a late night. It only took the Esper a moment to figure out what this was about. Hess had gone running to her superiors. Armsmaster was here to… well, probably coerce her into signing a Non-Disclosure Agreement, or something.

Time to do something that her pride would have never let her do, before the Locker. Play dumb.

"One of our Wards has reason to believe you know their Civilian Identity," the man explained as he escorted her to a van containing four PRT Troopers. One of them reached for a pair of handcuffs that looked like something the average cop couldn't get his hands on if her spent an entire year's salary on them. They even hummed, quite a bit, with whatever tech they were made of.

"What is-" Taylor began, taking a step backwards, before she was interrupted by bumping into the hero.

"Put them on, Miss Hebert," the Tinker growled at her, "Or they will be put on using force." The way his gloves creaked as he tightened his grip on his signature weapon was ominous enough for the girl to gulp audibly and take a couple steps forward and hold out her wrists.

The moment the cuffs were around her wrists, she felt a slight electric tingle coming from them. If she had that one gain on, ([Electricity Vulnerability]), who knows what it would feel like.

She was then, none too gently, tugged into a seat in the back of the black van they had arrived in, while Armsmaster mounted his bike and lead the way back to base.

As they entered the base, Taylor turned off all of her gains. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to turn on her ([Shadow Form]) and escape. To run far away and plot her revenge from somewhere safe.

That would let them know that she had powers, though, and that she felt guilty about something, anything at all. They'd chase her down, trump up some charges to get her into custody, then hit her with things she'd never even done.

So, instead, she turned it all off. Nothing would give her more leeway with these people than to prove Hess wrong.

They had her walk through a scanner on the way to an interrogation room, Taylor would bet her back teeth that it did more than check if she had any conventional weapons.

Armsmaster pushed her into a chair and her cuffs were connected to the table. He pointed at the floor dramatically with one jerking motion..

"Don't move," the order was given without room for arguing. The man stomped out of the room, and Taylor began glancing around, wondering how they were going to play this. She tried to appear confused, nervous.

On the other side of a two way mirror, the Director, Miss Militia, Armsmaster and Sophia Hess stood watching the girl.

"Are you sure that's her?" Piggot asked.

"Yeah," Sophia nodded, "That's her."

"How did she react to being cuffed?" the director turned to the stoic Tinker.

"She was nervous, but other than that, no reaction. She appears to have no weakness for electricity," the man replied.

"What do we know about her?"

"Taylor Anne Hebert, age fifteen. Mother, Annette-Rose Hebert, deceased, car wreck. Father, Daniel Oz Hebert, leader of the Dockworkers Association. He has routine meetings with Mayor Christner, trying to revitalize the ferry. A couple of weeks ago she was detained in Brockton Bay General Hospital. She had apparently been submerged in toxic waste- used tampons, and things of that ilk- for a number of hours. The acting physician at the time flagged her for probable parahuman powers. He presumed that the situation caused her to trigger in a way that nullified the infections. We are only now waiting on the results of our scans for more information," Armsmaster answered.

"I should interrogate her," Miss Militia said, "I have the best people skills of everyone here."

"Go ahead," Piggot said, "Do not promise her anything, do not tell her anything. She doesn't get to ask questions."

"Understood."

Taylor's head turned towards the heroine as she entered, an honest light of wonder in her eyes.

Miss Militia smiled behind her patriotic scarf and sat down.

"Miss Hebert, do you know why you are here?" the woman asked.

"Armsmaster, he said-" the girl tugged on the cuffs, not so much to escape, more as a nervous tick, "He said I knew a Ward's Identity."

"Correct. Can you think of anything that would lead us to believe that? Have you seen anything, in the last twenty four hours that would give away something like that?"

While Taylor was shaking her head, Piggot was receiving a sheet of data from Armsmaster. Sophia was glaring into the room as Hebert described the last day from her perspective.

"What does this mean?" the director asked the Tinker.

"Simply put, this girl is not in possession of Parahuman powers of her own," he replied, "Certain that this is the girl you saw?" Armsmaster had turned to Shadowstalker.

"One hundred percent. That's her. No doubt at all," the teen crossed her arms, glaring at the skinny girl behind the glass.

"Then the alternative is, perhaps, more worrying," the Tinker said.

"What?" Piggot asked, narrowing her eyes at the girl whom had already described her last twenty four hours.

"Do you remember a particular Master-Trump called Teacher?" he began, "The man could hand out Thinker and Tinker ratings to anyone he came in contact with. It seemed benign at first, but it becomes like a drug to the affected person, and he gains control over them, more and more, each time they 'dose'," he let that sink in for a moment, "This… If there is someone in the city, handing out powers, with or without the Master effect, this could be incredibly dangerous," the Tinker turned towards the interrogation, activating the communications device in Miss Militia's ear, "If Hebert has indicated a mundane reveal of Shadow Stalker's Civilian I.D. brush your hair to the left. If she has not, do so to the right."

Miss Militia brushed her hair to the right.

"Now what?" Sophia asked.

"With your permission director, I'd like to have her released," Armsmaster said, "She goes to the same school as Shadow Stalker, so we have eyes on her there. Additionally," he continued, "we can have her tagged with a tracking device while here, that we may track her whereabouts for the next month. This should lead us to the source of her abilities."

Piggot stared into the room at the skinny girl whom, seeming to sense a change in the atmosphere of the interrogation, was starting to fall into a little bit of hero worship with Miss Militia.

"Shadow Stalker," Director Piggot said, "If you are lying about this girl because of some petty schoolyard grudge between the two of you, the entirety of the costs for this operation will be coming out of your trust fund, and," she turned narrowed eyes on the teen girl, "I swear to God, Monitor duty will seem like heaven when I'm finished with you. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" the girl said emphatically.

"Proceed with your plan, Armsmaster. Notify me immediately of any significant findings," the woman turned around and walked back to her office.

The two heroes regarded Taylor for one final time, "Militia, end the interrogation. Do so amiably."

In the room, after another small bit of exposition from Taylor, Miss Militia said, "Alright, Taylor, thank you. I think I can say, without any doubt, that what you've said so far makes it unlikely that you would have discovered anyone's identity. I hope you understand why we had to do this."

"I know," the skinny teen said, "I've read the stories of what happens when your ID becomes compromised. It is not at all pretty."

The woman moved around the table and unhooked the cuffs from the table, "I'm afraid you will have to see Armsmaster to get the cuffs removed."

"Okay," the girl nodded then blushed as she said, "Can I… get your autograph?"

+9002+

An hour later, Taylor had a framed signature from Miss Militia and Armsmaster on her desk. She wasn't looking at them though as she finished the editing of the video from the last two weeks at Winslow. She had done as she said after her initial meeting with Blackwell, blurring out all the faces, bleeping out the names anytime they were said, only 'accidentally' leaving one image of the words 'Winslow High School' in one particular scene.

The only persons face that she didn't blur, nor bleep the name, was hers. That, and what she was about to add to the beginning of the video, would be the end of Winslow.

She positioned another camera, adjusted her glasses, cleared her throat and turned it on, looking directly into the lens.

"My name is Taylor Anne Hebert," she began, taking off her hoodie to show the lingering bug bites and sores from her time in the locker, "And this is what happens when your school doesn't care if you live or die, just because you aren't rich, or popular."

The video would contain several instances of the bullying the Esper had endured over the course of only a few days, let alone the full two weeks, along with pictures of the locker, and her covered in the toxic waste inside it.

Taylor had promised Blackwell that she would find someone to do her job, if she wouldn't. The woman still refused to make a move, so Taylor made her own.


	5. Chapter 5 Pie In The Face

Chapter Five: Pie In The Face…

Taylor stood in front of the mailbox, holding the package that was labeled for the local news network. She had already sent another one out, to a national network, but this one felt… heavier.

The skinny Esper looked at the manilla envelope with a small amount of contempt. What _was_ this? Fear? _Why?_ Of what?

She almost snorted as she thought it might be the 'fear of success' that she used to mock.

More likely, it was change. Most people, in any walk of life, hated change. Even those at the bottom of the heap would rather it stay the same than have a radical shift in their reality. Change was a gamble, after all. It could be good, or bad. Most were terrified that it would come up bad and make their life worse than they already felt it was.

Taylor, standing at the ready to change more than just her own life with her video, knew that there were several ways this could backfire. The biggest would be that no one would care. Just another bullied teen in a world being torn apart by monsters that pretended to be humans. So what? Why would anyone care about that? Why would they even put in the effort to listen, let alone end it?

Her hand trembled for a moment. Not out of sadness, or fear, but anger. Her brow scrunched together and her teeth were bared in such a way that a person might think a ragged blade had cut open the place on her face that a mouth should have been found.

If no one cared, she would _make_ them care.

That was why she blurred all the names aside from hers. As much as this was about Vengeance, it had to be more heavily on the side of justice. The public would empathize with her more should she be trying to improve her school, rather than bury her personal bullies.

Oh, she was going to destroy them, certainly, but it had to look like she wanted more than that.

She took a deep, calming breath of the chilly, January air and slid the package into the mail depository on the corner of her street.

On her way home Taylor began to think about the next step.

If the public reacted to this half as well as she hoped, Winslow would go through a purge. Certain teachers that didn't particularly deserve it would be hurt, but at this point, she didn't care. Even if some the Faculty were _less guilty_ than Blackwell, that still meant they were _guilty_. If they wanted to save their careers, they should have made a stand when it mattered.

+-9002-+

For Abigail Blackwell, the last couple of weeks had been… normal. The only bit of annoyance, the only source of minute dissonance, had been the Hebert brat. Little girl thought she was funny, making big, dramatic, vitriolic statements in her office. As usual, nothing had come of it.

And nothing would, had Blackwell a say in the matter. Hebert didn't know that the most physically violent of her bullies was a Ward. Didn't know that, in the last four months of the school year the gang fights and stabbings had dropped dramatically. Hebert didn't know that she was basically a sacrificial lamb to keep the sociopathic Ward happy with her position, rather than have her transferred over to Arcadia.

"Eggs and Omelets," Abigail mumbled to herself as she sipped from a glass of cranberry juice, "You have to break one to make the other."

Hebert was, unfortunately, the egg in this scenario. A more peaceful high school was the omelet.

"Eggs and Omelets," the woman repeated.

It had already been four days past the 'deadline' Hebert had given her and, to no surprise, nothing had happened.

The look in the girl's eyes had almost fooled Blackwell into thinking that she would do something stupid, like bring a weapon onto school grounds. There were more kids with weapons than not, so she'd be stopped by other students, gang members most like, before she could do any real damage, but it would be unfortunate and would bring the wrong kind of scrutiny to her school.

Still, it hadn't happened. Nothing had.

Nothing would.

The ringing of her home phone pulled her out of her musings.

She bustled over to the wall mounted phone near her kitchen.

"Hello?" she asked, "This is the Blackwell residence."

"You might want to turn on CNN, or the channel eight news," it was Hebert, "It's rather important." Before the educator could say anything in reply, the line went dead.

A lance cold fear shot through the woman and she all but ran to her lounge, turning on her modest TV and switching it to the local news.

"...Apparently members of the faculty were fully aware of the abuse going on in their school and did nothing to stop it," a female reporter said, a frown on her face as they showed a clip, "Right here," a laser pointer was used to outline a man, his face blurred out, "The analysts have pointed out that this is not another student, but in fact one of the teachers. You can see it as he makes eye contact here with the victim, looking directly into the camera. He can clearly see that this girl," another laser pointed to a dark skinned girl, "is kicking Miss Hebert, but turns away. Hold on," the woman said, putting a finger to her ear, "We've just received _several_ calls, identifying the teacher in the clip. We will refrain from naming him here until our sources are confirmed, but it seems the public _demands_ a response from the local law enforcement. A fair few are asking for intervention from the Protectorate, if only to clean up the school. I wholeheartedly agree," as she said that, the entire video began to play again, showing Winslow High School through Taylor Hebert's eyes. It was not a kind perspective.

"Oh, holy mother of god," the woman breathed out as she collapsed into her chair. It wasn't ten seconds later that her doorbell began to ring, almost violently. She looked towards the front of her house and could see a lot of angry faces through the stained glass windows.

+-9002-+

Sophia was sitting on her bed, glaring at her math homework. She hated math. Almost as much as she hated weakness.

It wasn't that she was bad at it. Quite the opposite really. She kicked more ass at equations than she did on the streets. But it was so _boring!_ It never changed, or varied, or did anything different. There was only ever one right answer for any particular problem.

She wished she'd been called in for patrol that evening. It would have been far more entertaining.

The door to her room bulged inward, and was then blasted off the hinges by a large foot covered in power armor, before she could even stand up she was covered in an electrified net then hit with a tranquilizer. She was out before she was aware of what was going on, or why Armsmaster, of all people, was attacking her.

+-9002-+

"Daddy!" Emma shouted as she sat watching the news, her heart racing and her eyes wide, "DADDY!"

"What in the world is it, Emm-" the man almost thundered at his darling daughter. He was stopped short however when he saw the video, starting with Taylor Hebert's opening speech.

" _My name is Taylor Anne Hebert, and this is what happens when your school doesn't care if you live or die, just because you aren't rich, or popular,_ " the teen took off her hoodie in the video, showing that she was wearing a very modest bra that helped to show off all the sores and bites and bruises, " _I was stuffed into a locker filled with insects and biological waste,_ " pictures were shown, just long enough to build horror in the viewers, " _And the faculty did nothing. It has been more than two weeks. Supposedly, no evidence can be found to identify the perpetrators of this heinous act. I am not an investigator, but I can only surmise that this kind of terrorist attack- it can not be considered anything less than that- would leave some kind of evidence behind. The only way that nothing could be found is if the staff itself is complicit in the assault._

" _Fearing this was the case, I proceeded to record the video you are about to see. The locker was the worst of it, but there is evidence here that, not just I, but several other students have also been outright attacked at the school and the faculty has, not only allowed it, but in three separate cases encouraged it._ "

The images and narratives that followed showed exactly what Taylor had already said. At one point, it showed a member of the faculty gesturing to another student while talking to a teenager wearing the colors of the ABB. the young man then gathered a pair of his associates and proceeded to beat down the unfortunate student the teacher had pointed to. The camera swiveled back to the teacher to see him calmly walking away while reading something in a folder.

"Oh, my god," Emma breathed out, "That was Mister G." She didn't know why she was surprised. The man had a… singular view of the world. It had helped her more times than she had bothered to count against Taylor. Why should it be different for any of the other kids that had been targeted?

+-9002-+

For one Brent Gladly, the night was going well. He was on a date with his lovely wife in one of the ritzy parts of town, he was a teacher that was loved by all his students, and he was making a difference in the world, one impressional mind at a time.

Which was why, all that considered, he was extremely surprised when he was punched in the face by a man screaming about his son.

Gladly had just exited the restaurant with his wife when the large man had come up and drilled a fist the size of a coke can into his nose. The sickening crunch was indicative of a broken nose, and the man didn't stop there.

"This is for my son, you bastard!" the man yelled and punched him two more times before he was tackled by a pair of officers, still screaming about killing Gladly.

The teacher himself was already out cold and missing a handful of teeth. It wouldn't matter much to him when he woke up that his assailant was being held fully accountable for the assault. It wouldn't even register to him that he would have to have some serious dental work done to ever have something resembling a nice smile again.

The only thing that Brent Gladly could think about was the notice of dismissal from his teaching position and a letter revoking his teaching certificate.

The man cried for an hour.

+-9002-+

When Sophia Hess woke up it was to the sterilized light of a prison cell. Rather than the comfortable clothes she had been wearing, she was clothed in an orange jumpsuit.

"What the fuck?" she hissed, sitting up.

" _Sophia Hess, Shadowstalker,_ " a digitized voice came out of the wall, " _Welcome to the Bauman Parahuman Containment Facility._ "

"Oh, fuck no!" the black girl said, shifting into her shadow form and attempting to phase through the wall. She was immediately zapped, with barely a handful of volts, and was on her back when the digital voice finished its pronouncement.

" _Better known as the Birdcage, the inescapable parahuman prison._ "

+-9002-+

Taylor and her father sat on the couch in their living room, watching the news. Taylor had an almost malicious grin on her face.

It had been two days since the news report. Taylor's worry that no one would care was far from the reality. Just that evening, the reports of the ongoing purge of Winslow showed that Blackwell had kept secret more than anyone could have guessed.

Apparently the ABB were using the school, not just as a recruiting ground, but to mark down targets for their enforced prostitution ring. Blackwell knew and had agreed that she wouldn't say anything as long as the girls weren't actually taken while on school grounds. The uproar that alone caused would have seen the woman lynched, but there was more.

Oh, god was there more.

Taylor's favorite part of the report had been the revelation that one Mister Gladly had been assaulted by an angry parent for his 'blatant negligence and outright dereliction of duty,' as it had been worded by the reporter.

Rumors stated that the man wouldn't teach again, ever.

Taylor wouldn't particularly mind if that were the case.

"What now?" Danny asked, not quite grinning as his daughter had been.

"Now?" the girl hummed in thought for a moment, "I guess now I use some of the more personal videos of bullying to destroy Emma and Madison. I might even wait until they try attacking me first."

"And after that?" the man urged, "You have to live for more than revenge. I mean, yeah, you aren't trying to kill anybody, but there is that whole saying about those who seek vengeance needing to dig two graves."

"I know, and I agree," she said, "But I have goals. Long term and short. To get to the long term goals I need to complete the short term. Short term is the unrectifiable end of all bullying upon my person, in particular."

"As long as you've been thinking about what comes after."

"I promise, I have."

She had. She'd never tell him, but Taylor knew exactly what was in her future. She was going to use her abilities to strike from the shadows- literally- to end the threats in this city. Permanently.

Seriously, she had no intention of killing Emma and Madison. Death would be a welcome escape by the time she was done with them. One that she would see to it that would come only when she deemed it fit.

The villains, maybe even some of the heroes if Sophia was the kind of people they deemed one of their own, however would be little more than dog meat. Again, quite literally.

Taylor grinned at the thought, then licked her lips. She was feeling mighty hungry.

+-9002-+

AN: so, this chapter was short, and mostly just filler. It is as seen, the fallout of her revealing the state of the school to the world.

I wanted to get all of this out of the way in a separate chapter from what happens next, because it is rather important.

Please Enjoy!


End file.
